The Life and Times of Ivy WalkerWayne
by 4everYoung93
Summary: One day I had the question I'm sure we've all asked-"What if Bruce had adopted a daughter first?" From that came this fic. My first story. Future chapters to be uploaded. Some people may be OOC. Rated T just in case. CHAPTER 4 IS UP!
1. Prologue

_Ugh, this is _so_ boring, _Ivy thought for about the millionth time. Her history teacher was droning on and on about something from the front of the room, and from the look of her classmates, she wasn't the only one bored out of their skull. Some were taking notes mechanically, barely paying attention, while others were struggling just to stay awake. Which is why it was no surprise that several jerked awake, some falling out of their chairs, when the P.A. system screeched on, an announcer coming in over the loudspeaker.

"_Please pardon the interruption. Ivy Walker to the Principal's office please, Ivy Walker to the Principal's office. Thank you"_

At once, every head in the room turned to Ivy, Mr. Scott's lecture rudely forgotten. The automatic 'Ooooooo' reverberated around the room from every mouth. Ivy rose from her desk and grabbed her backpack, rolling her eyes on her way out the door. It was so typical for them to think she had done something. _Why is it that whenever someone goes to the office, people think they're in trouble? _She wasn't in any trouble, because she hadn't done anything wrong. She was sure of that much. She cracked a small smile, chuckling to herself, and walked the rest of the way till she got to the office. She reached for the handle and was about to open the door when she looked up. What she saw froze her where she stood; there were two officers inside, both wearing Gotham PD jackets. Police. In the office. Where she had just been summoned to. And one had met her eyes, his own reflecting guilt and sadness. Every voice in Ivy's head was screaming at her to run, as far and as fast as she could, away from that door. Her thoughts were racing, but in that moment, one was louder than the rest.

_Don't go in there_.

It was one of those moments in life where you know your next decision may change life as you know it forever. It was the longest two seconds of Ivy's life.

And then it was over. Ivy mentally checked herself, turned the door handle, and went inside. _Everything is fine,_ she told herself,_ stop worrying._

It was strange though: she couldn't shake this weird feeling that she was about to get some very, very bad news.


	2. Chapter 1: Loss and Change

**Saturday, November 5, 2008**

_Ivy…_

_She couldn't focus. Her mind was numb._

_Ivy…_

_A voice was calling to her, distant and strangely muffled…_

"Ivy?"

Lieutenant Gordon's voice snapped her back to reality. For a minute, Ivy merely blinked at him, trying to remember exactly _where_ she was. It came back to her slowly: she was in a small, poorly-lit office, in the Major Crimes Unit of the Gotham City Police Department. Sitting opposite her was a very tired-looking Lt. Jim Gordon, who was watching her from behind his desk with a worried expression. Ivy held his gaze for only a moment, quickly dropping her eyes back to the floor.

When she didn't look up again, he sighed. They had been here for what felt like days, though it had really only been a few hours. She remembered now. They were trying to find her a new place to live. That was why she was here. Her home was now property of Gotham City, and because she was underage, she could no longer live there. Because she was an orphan. Because her only parent and guardian now lay two floors below on a slab in autopsy.

She was alone.

Gordon kept trying to catch her eye, so that he could address her fully, but it was useless; she was too busy burning a hole in the ugly blue carpet. Ivy knew it was disrespectful, and even rude, to deliberately ignore someone when they were trying to talk to you. She also knew that right then, that was precisely how she was acting. But honestly, right at that moment, she really didn't care. She could really give a damn how rude she was being. It was bad enough she had lost everything. Talking about it would only make her feel worse. If that was even still possible.

Ivy knew her limits, and how close to the edge she already was. She had lost her grip in front of these people once, and she had no intention of losing it again. But it wasn't because she was trying to be strong. She wasn't bottling up her feelings. And she wasn't in denial. Ivy knew exactly what had happened-her mother was dead. A week earlier, Ivy's mother had been walking home from work, to their house in the slightly-less intense part of the Narrows. But on her way, she had taken a route that unfortunately ran through gang territory. That day, June Walker had unknowingly stepped into a drug war, and in one drive-by shot, she was gone.

That was what had happened, and there was no way to change it. Ivy knew that. It hurt, she couldn't say it didn't. Mom had been the only family she had ever had; her father had split before she'd been born; her grandparents had died in a car accident when she was twelve; and neither her nor June had had any brothers or sisters. Ivy had only ever known Mom, and now she was gone, too. She had lost a part of herself, and now she had nothing.

She was empty. Lost.

But that didn't mean she was going to break down. She had already done that; she had been doing nothing _but_ screaming and crying for days on end. Crying for her mom, crying for herself, weeping hot, angry tears against the unknown dealer who had taken everything from her.

Now, though, there was nothing left to cry for. She was tired, and sick, of wallowing in her misery. She was tired of poisoning herself with all of her anger. She was tired of crying so much because, in the end, what good did it do? Crying felt good once in a while, but not everyday. That just left you drained and puffy-eyed. And she felt bad enough already.

"Ivy."

He was trying to speak to her again, only this time she took pity on him. She looked up, and her green eyes met his hazel ones.

Gordon was far too young to look as old as he did, Ivy thought. He may have been barely into his 40's, yet he seemed twenty years older. His brown hair was streaked liberally with gray, his once-kind face now sad looking and lined with wrinkles. _Its true what they say, _Ivy thought.

This job aged people.

He sighed again. It was funny, really; now that Gordon had Ivy's fullest attention, he had no idea what to say. He was faltering under her stare, so she did what came naturally: she looked away. It seemed to do the trick. After about a minute of studying the wallpaper, Ivy heard him speak.

"Uh, well, listen Ivy," he cleared his throat, the went on, "I know this has been difficult for you…"

_Hmph, understatement of the year, _she thought bitterly.

"But," he continued, "we do need to finish this. Now, are you sure, absolutely sure, that there is nowhere else you can stay? No other family, or…"he let his voice trail off.

At this, Ivy raised her head to stare at Gordon, this time unleashing a merciless glare without guilt or pity. They had gone over this and over this for a week now, but she repeated to him, again, what she had already told him.

"No sir," she replied icily, "there's nobody else. I'm sure."

And there was the ever-present sigh, at which Ivy angrily balled her fists on the arms of her chair. Of all the officers she had talked to, she liked Gordon the best. But the man was seriously beginning to piss her off. He seemed to be struggling with something. He wasn't looking her in the eye, and his fidgeting was trying her ever-fading patience. Having had enough with his internal battle, Ivy spoke, trying hard to keep her voice calm.

"Sir," she asked, "is that a problem? You seem worried."

Finally, he stopped fidgeting. He met her gaze, and something in his eyes was apologetic. Ivy sensed bad news again.

"Yes, Ivy," he answered sadly, "that is a problem. You see, because your mother didn't have will, we have no way of knowing who your guardian should be. Now, I know that Mr. and Mrs. Lemieux are more than happy to have you, and that's wonderful. But without a will to specify that your mother gave them custody, the fact remains, they are not your relatives. Legally, we can not keep you in their care."

Ivy sat there, stunned into disbelieving silence. She couldn't stay with Casey. Well, that _was_ a problem. She should have expected it, though. Cassandra Lemieux was her closest friend.; the two of them might as well have been sisters. She and her grandparents had been a part of Ivy's extended family for years. But, unfortunately, Gordon was right. They weren't actually related-well, not in the traditional sense, anyway.

And that was when it dawned on her. Why Gordon was so troubled, and why he looked so guilty. Why he had been grasping at straws all week, drilling her about other family. She hadn't wanted to see it, but if she was honest with herself, Ivy had known it would be this way from the beginning.

She let this all sink in, sitting quietly for a while. Then she turned her eyes back to Lieutenant Gordon. He looked nervous. Scratch that, Ivy thought. He looked _afraid_, as if all this terrible news would cause the girl in front of him to spontaneously combust.

_Am I actually scaring him? _Ivy thought_. He's a cop, for crying out loud! I'm just a 16 year-old girl!_

She could have laughed, until she realized she was probably still glaring at him. Her look softened a bit, and Gordon seemed to relax. Finally, Ivy broke the silence.

"So I can't stay with Casey. Okay. What does that mean, then? Where will I go?"

"Well," he replied, "Since there is no one legally able to care for you, you'll have to be transferred into a group home."

_A group home,_ Ivy mused sarcastically, _great._

"You mean an orphanage, don't you sir," she said. It wasn't a question. She already knew.

He answered anyway.

"Yes, Ivy," Gordon said, "Gotham's Community Home for Girls"

Ivy raised a quizzical eyebrow at this, fixing Gordon with a "you've-got-to-be-kidding-me" look. He saw this, gulped, and continued.

"Now I know it sounds bad," he said, "but you might be surprised. The home is in a good area, just outside of downtown Gotham. And its near your school, so you won't have to transfer out."

Ivy pondered this for a moment. She could stay a Thomas Wayne High, with all her friends. That was good, right?

"Also," he persisted, trying to smile, "there are modern, dorm-style facilities, so you'll have your own room. And the matron, Miss Birch, is very nice. Very easy to talk to. I think you might like her."

This, too, sounded great. It all did. Gordon was trying so hard to make this sound like an adventure, but the circumstances had not changed. An orphanage, however cool it may be, was still an orphanage. Knowing she had no other options but to go only made her miss home. She frowned.

Gordon dropped the half-assed grin he'd been attempting to crack and sighed. Again.

"I'm sorry, Ivy. I know you're going through a lot right now, but try to keep an open mind. This change could be a good one."

The man had a point, Ivy reasoned. Mom had always said, 'when one door closes, another one opens'. Yes, her mother was gone, that much was true. But maybe things could get better. Perhaps the Earth _was_ still spinning, after all. This could be okay.

After a minute of thinking, Ivy asked, "Would I still get to see Casey, and everyone else?"

"Yes, of course," Gordon replied, "The home has an open-door policy. You, and your friends, can come and go as you please. Provided you check in with Miss Birch about it first."

He really did smile this time, relieved that Ivy seemed to be coming around to the idea. He waited for her to respond.

Ivy thought about it. If she could still see her friends, and could have a room to herself, then maybe this place wouldn't be so bad. She didn't say anything for a minute. Gordon looked anxious. After a while, she took a deep breath, let it out, and finally, she asked,

"When do I move in?"

* * *

**Author's Note**

I'd Like to thank Night Monkey, for giving me my first ever review (which was _scathing_, I must say). I'm just gald I got a review so soon after posting. Yay!

Now everybody else follow her lead: REVIEW! This is my first story and I need feedback, people! I would say no flames, but honestly, if you have a problem with my writing (a. if it's constructive critiscism you feel I absolutely NEED to hear, then put it in your reveiw, and/or (b. If it's just mindless hatefull drivvel, don't bother with it. I don't need people drunk on Haterade makin' drama over fanfics (who wants that, right?).

Anyway, thanks for reading. Reveiw, reveiw, REVIEW!


	3. Chapter 2: One of the Good Guys

**One Year Later  
**

* * *

Mr. Doyle glanced at the clock from his seat in the otherwise empty auditorium. It's face read 8:05.

"Alright everyone, gather round for notes so we can get out of here!"

His cast was more than happy to oblige; Anything to finish rehearsals faster and get on with their weekend. Everyone settled at the edge of the stage, waiting for Doyle to start. But their director said nothing. He just sat there, looking from one face to another to get a mental headcount, until he realized who was missing.

"Um, has anybody seen Ivy," he asked, "She needs to be here for this, too."

Heads turned this way and that as everybody looked around for Ivy, calling out across the stage for the unseen cast member. After a few minutes of yelling, they got a response.

"Hold on," a voice shouted from the dressing rooms, "just a second, I'm coming!"

A sudden clack-clack-clack of running feet echoed on the stairs to the stage, and not long after, the red-velvet curtains ruffled and were hastily thrown apart. There, dressed in her gold fairy top (complete with sewn-on wings), a pair of jeans, and black high-heeled boots, was a heavily out-of-breath Ivy.

"Sorry guys," she panted, trying to refill her lungs, "I was…downstairs…changing. Anyway, what'd I miss?"

Mr. Doyle, as well as her cast mates, all simply stared at her, unable to respond primarily due to the overwhelming majority of them fighting the urge to burst out laughing. The only one among them managing to keep a straight face was their director, who was somewhat less than amused at Ivy's entrance.

"Well, if you'd be so kind as to _join_ us, Miss Walker, we were just about to go over notes," Doyle said, in response to Ivy's question. Clearly, he was pretty miffed. Not wanting to risk his infamous temper, Ivy nodded and quickly took a seat on the stage floor with the rest of the group, being careful not to poke anyone with her wings.

* * *

After Doyle was finished with his usual comments and critiques, he released everyone to get dressed and go home. More than ready to be back in her street clothes, Ivy gladly followed the girls of the cast down to the dressing room again to finish changing. Once they were all inside and the door securely shut, they wasted no time in stripping off their costumes, all thoughts of modesty and self-consciousness forgotten. Ivy, who only still had the top of her fairy outfit on, was back into her black and aqua peace-sign tee shirt relatively quickly. She hung her costume back up on the clothing rack in the rear of the room with the others, then turned to face the make-up mirror on the opposite wall. She grabbed a cotton pad and her bottle of cosmetic remover from the counter, and quickly set to work getting the thick layer of stage make-up and glitter off her face. Once she had removed about a pound of foundation from her pale skin, she began attacking the dark circles of liner that enclosed her emerald-colored eyes. As she did so, a tall, slender fairy with honey blonde hair and a pink tutu joined her at the mirror.

Ivy glanced to her left, only to see her equally sparkly friend and fellow fairy, Hannah Taylor, still in her costume and struggling to unpin her highly teased, hairspray hardened updo.

"Hey, Ivy," Hannah said, addressing her reflection. She kept her eyes on the mirror, continuing to wage war on her hair. It didn't look to be a winning battle on her part.

"Hi Hannah," Ivy replied, "What's up?"

Hannah spared a wry grin before saying sarcastically, "Oh, not much, just trying to dismantle this ant hill that Mrs. Tynan piled on top of my head."

At this, Ivy couldn't help but laugh. At least, that is, until she started on her own hair. Her sable locks were so heavily coated in hairspray and glitter that they were frozen in place, stubbornly refusing to budge as she attempted to yank a comb through them. When Ivy bit her lip to keep from yelping in pain, Hannah smiled triumphantly.

"Not so funny now, is it?" she asked smugly. She was met with an irritated pout from Ivy.

"Hey, I'm just sayin'," Hannah told her, raising her hands in a 'don't-shoot-the-messenger' sort of fashion. Ivy took aim anyway.

"Oh, shut up," she mumbled, rolling her eyes as she turned back to the mirror. Now was so _not_ the moment for 'I told you so'.

"Okay," Hannah surrendered, "New topic."

"Deal," Ivy agreed, dropping her 'Look'. When her expression was no longer hostile, Hannah made a stab at conversation again.

"So, have you seen the news lately?" she asked, "Your _guy_ was all over Gotham Tonight last night."

_Oh boy,_ Ivy thought, _here we go again._

She turned away from the mirror and began packing her things into her bag, making a point of ignoring Hannah's comment. But Hannah was persistent.

"Well?" she asked, slightly ticked that her query had gone unanswered.

"Well what?" Ivy questioned, feigning ignorance.

Hannah threw up her hands in frustration.

"Oh, come on," she cried exasperatedly, "Like you don't want to hear all the gory details on the big, bad, BAT!"

Ivy sighed, rolling her eyes at her friend again. She didn't answer right away; Instead, she threw on her jacket and slung her backpack over her shoulder. Finally, she turned to face a thoroughly irritated Hannah, who was still waiting on Ivy for a reply.

"Honestly Hannah, I could really care less what Engel had to say about him, okay."

Ivy thought that would be the end of it; she was, however, sorely mistaken.

"Oh, spare me, Ivy," Hannah said, "You do too care. Not that I understand why. I mean, please, the man _killed people_, for God's sake!"

"That was never proven by hard facts and you know it, Hannah." Ivy's voice was calm, but her tone was lower than a whisper. The deadly sound succeeded in its efforts; at once, Hannah was silent.

Ivy went on.

"Look, I know the trash the press spouts about him, alright. I do own a TV. But seriously, think about it: Harvey Dent was Batman's strongest ally during all that Joker crap. He defended him to the ends of the Earth and back, even when things were impossible. So, enlighten me: why would a man, who spent a year and a half fighting criminals, push the only person he could trust off a skyscraper? Does that make even the remotest amount of sense to you?"

At this, Hannah seemed to get her voice back.

"Okay, no, not really, but what about Gordon? His family was threatened by Batman that night, Ivy. He said so himself. What do you say to that, huh?"

Hannah crossed her arms over her chest, satisfied that her point had been made. But Ivy wasn't done yet.

"I say Gordon's lying."

Now it was Ivy's turn to feel smug. She took a minute for her friend to fully grasp what she had just said. It didn't take very long; As soon as the comment was out of Ivy's mouth, Hannah's jaw hit the floor. She gaped at Ivy as though she couldn't quite believe what she had just heard.

"W-w-what?," she sputtered, "What do you mean, Gordon's lying? How would you even know that?"

"Because," Ivy answered calmly, "I know Gordon. He was the cop who handled my case after my mom's accident last year."

"So?" Hannah asked, failing to see how this was relevant.

"So," Ivy said slowly, "I spent enough time around the man during my near-daily visits to the MCU headquarters. I've seen him when he gets nervous, and I'm telling you, in all the press conferences since he 'supposedly' turned against Batman, he's been lying through his teeth to the press."

Ivy paused for a moment, letting the idea sink in. Hannah appeared to have been rendered momentarily speechless. Taking advantage of this, Ivy pressed on.

"I know what everybody says about him, Hannah," she said. "They all think he's a monster and a murderer and a freaking psychopath, and he deserves to be punished like all the other criminals in this city. But I refuse to believe that. I honestly think that Batman is one of the good guys, and nothing you say is going to change my mind. Please, let's just drop it, okay?"

Ivy was kind in her request, but the finality in her tone was clear. Hannah understood, replying simply with a nod. The conversation was over.

"Thanks," Ivy said, turning toward the door. As she left the dressing room, she called over her shoulder, "Bye, Hannah, see ya next week!"

"Bye, Ivy," Hannah shouted, to her friend's retreating back, "See ya later. Be careful out there, okay?"

Ivy waved a hand over her shoulder in reply, making her way up the stairs, through the auditorium, and out of the school doors, leaving Thomas Wayne Memorial High School behind as she set off into the night.

* * *

**Author's Note**

Hey, ya'll!

Well, this is the part where I thank my ONE awesome reviewer who kindly commented on Chapter One- twilightRose9492, you ROCK! Thanks so much for the review, it was _way_ nicer than my first *cough, _Night Monkey_, cough*.

Reviews are love. I have Chapter 3 almost finished. Maybe if I get some feedback (positive, negative, or neutral), I'll be a nice little author and post it.

Please. Just review. It only takes a second...please.

Till Next Time :)


	4. Chapter 3: Reflections

**Just a quick note:**

Hi! SO sorry for the absurdly late update, this story has had me stumped like you wouldn't **believe.** First, a quick shout-out to those of you who have taken the time to review-thank you SO much, it is so encouraging (not to mention, it just makes my day!). Also, thanks to everyone so far who has added this story to their Alert lists**, **and again, I apologize for keeping you waiting so long. _So, _without any further ado, ON WITH THE FIC!

* * *

**Later that night**

Right. Left. Toss. Turn. Groan. Repeat.

This was the pattern that Ivy found herself fallen victim to. It was an unfortunate physical trait of hers; for as long as she could remember, she had always had trouble falling asleep. Even when she was dog-tired, rest simply refused to come to her.

Of course, the coffee she had gulped down to keep her coherent for her play rehearsal _probably _wasn't helping the situation any.

With a huff, Ivy rolled over to glance at her alarm clock. 1:30 am!

_Great, _she thought sarcastically, _Un-_freakin'-_believable!_

"This is impossible," she said aloud, though the sound was a bit muffled as she had spoken into her pillow. Turning over again, Ivy lay on her back, wide awake, staring at the ceiling.

"I'm never gonna get to sleep," she admitted to the empty room. And it was true; it was already after one in the morning, she was hopped up on caffeine, not to mention restless from her little tiff with Hannah earlier. Her friend's words were still ringing through her head, stubbornly keeping her from sleep.

_Did you see…all over Gotham Tonight…Not that I understand why…He _killed_ people, for God's sake…_

Ivy slammed her pillow over her head, trying to shut off her thoughts. Eventually, however, even she had to concede defeat. With an exasperated groan, she kicked the covers away and swung her legs off the bed, sliding her feet into a pair of slippers as she went. She got up, grabbed a hoodie, and went to her door.

She ducked her head out to see if the coast was clear; it was. Shutting the door to her bedroom behind her, Ivy tip-toed silently down the hallway, her footsteps muted against the soft, plush carpet. Not a sound could be heard throughout the house, as every other person in the rooms around her was, of course, sound asleep.

After a few minutes of walking the halls, Ivy found the door behind which there were stairs that led to the roof. Which, of course, was unlocked (because who would break into an orphanage, much less from the _roof_). Ivy glanced up and down the hall once, to make sure no one was watching, then opened the door and climbed the stairwell that led to her sanctuary.

* * *

A rush of cool, October air hit her as Ivy opened the Roof Access door, making her glad she'd thought to bring the sweatshirt. She shut the door as quietly as she could, so as not to wake anyone inside, before walking slowly towards to waist-high ledge on the edge of the roof. Leaning against the low wall, she gazed out over the wide span of high-rises and lights that was Gotham City.

It truly was a sight to behold. From her fourth story vantage point, Ivy could see every inch of the lively metropolis, every skyscraper soaring above the busy streets. Not far away, she could spot Wayne Tower, the unofficial heart of the city. There was GCPD headquarters, dwarfed by the larger, more impressive buildings that surrounded it, and still freshly rebuilt after the havoc that the Joker caused six months earlier.

The entire western corner of the structure had had to be rebuilt, once the crazed clown was finished with it. Charges had been set to blow by someone on his payroll; the speculation pointed to a possible inside job by one of the officers in the Major Crimes Unit. Somebody bought off by the Joker and the mob, thought to be in Gordon's unit.

Talk about a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Unfortunately, after that whole debacle, the one thing that was missing from the remodeled MCU building was a certain, specially-designed floodlight on the roof.

Yes, the Bat-Light (as Ivy called it) had been destroyed. The papers said that it was Gordon himself who had shut it down, permanently. There were even rumors that he had hacked away at the thing with an axe. But those were just rumors.

At least, so far as she hoped.

Ivy sighed, frowning slightly at the vast, black-velvet sky. The stars were the only things lighting up the clear, cloudless expanse tonight.

No floodlight.

It was such a shame. Gotham's skyline seemed so empty now. It was far too dark, without _his _signal to light up the night, and scare the scum of the streets and alleys away.

Still, Ivy held out hope that he was still out there, still fighting. Not that there was any real trace of him anywhere; Nobody had seen the hide nor hair of the elusive Batman. There hadn't been sightings of him for months, not since the murder charges after the D.A.'s death had forced him into hiding. If he had been hard to track before, he must be more than doubling the cover of his trail nowadays. The cops had a reward out for anyone who managed to capture him, yet somehow, he was still keeping a low enough profile that no one had yet been successful.

_Let's hope it stays that way, _Ivy prayed, _the last thing we need is him locked up._

It wasn't much of a secret that the rebellious teen was on the rogue vigilante's side, and she'd be the first to tell you as much. When it came to Batman, Ivy was steadfast in her belief of his innocence. No one had yet been able to change her opinion-Batman didn't kill anyone, plain and simple. It just went against all logic; Dent and Gordon were his greatest allies, and they had never wavered in their respect for and faith in him. Yet, Dent was dead, and Gordon was pointing the finger of blame straight at Batman-the man had sent the freaking K-9 Unit out after him, along with every cop on the force and every citizen in town!

One minute, Gordon was singing the Bat's praises, and imploring the people to have faith in him. Next thing you know, the newly appointed police commissioner has pulled a complete 180, and is condemning Batman to be thrown to the nearest angry mob.

Fishy, much?

But of course, whenever the outspoken girl presented her theory to anyone who would listen, they laughed in her face. It was utterly pathetic; nobody ever listened to teenagers.

A bereft sigh escaped Ivy's lips in a puff, her breath crystallizing before her in the crisp air, as her gaze drifted over the city. From up here, the honking horns and random shouts that rang in a Friday night were just far enough away that one almost forgot they were in one of the most dangerous cities in the U.S. The night was peaceful in Gotham.

At least, to the untrained eye.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Yes, I know what you're thinking, readers; this chapter was really short. Again, I find myself apologizing to you most vehemently, I just do not seem to have it in me to keep the creative juices flowing with this one. However, I can think of something that might help - REVIEWS! Comments, critiques, and most importantly, SUGGESTIONS of what to do next. What direction do you think this should go in? Do you think I should even keep writing, or should I perhaps *gasp* discontinue this work and focus on writing other things?**  
**

Let me know what you think, readers. Just click the little review button, write whatcha feelin', and hit submit. Or better yet, PM me if you have ideas you feel need sharing. Thanks for Reading!

Till next time :)


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